In Sepia Land

On my laptop 
I summon the dead.....
I watch fascinated 
a Sepia Land.
From satanic dark mills
in clogs and shawls 
laughing lasses rush home
at last to read
the pencil letters
sent from brothers
sat in trenches
the horrors of which
are all in sepia
for they inhabit
a Sepia Land.

What was it really like
in Sepia Land, Sepia Land
the poor despised 
the wealthy resented?
Were simple pleasures
really enough  
to counteract 
such awful stresses?
Were they really more happy 
than you or me
in Sepia Land
harsh Sepia Land?

In Sepia Land 
I watch as a toddler
in sailor suit
and huge straw hat sees
the Catholic procession
wind down the street
of shiny black cobbles
carrying banners in front of
small children in white
who gaze into my eyes
from long ago 
from Sepia Land.

I see throngs at the seaside
in sunday best clothes 
colleagues and neighbours
promenade to the Pier.
In Sepia Land
Just one week a year
just Wakes Week
for Punch and Judy
and donkey rides
not winding bobbins
but sending postcards
showing Municipal Gardens
of Sepia Land.

At the races
I stare astonished
at the tiny waists
of Ladies on arms
of Lords whose top hats 
have a silken sheen.
Next rotund mayors
in metal rimmed glasses
unveil grand memorials
to fallen heroes
of Sepia Land.
Then cheeky chappies
all swaggering, grinning
at used clothing markets
who wink and beckon
and call  to me
as if I were there
right in front of them
in Sepia Land.

I wish I could go 
to Sepia Land
just for a short while
to see for myself
I'd wear my best outfit 
on top of the tram
going to the park 
on my afternoon off
to meet with my beau
from Sepia Land.

Perhaps a man 
inside the park
behind a camera
would kindly ask me
if I minded
to pose for the camera
and then with a flash
he'd take my picture
and lock me forever
in Sepia Land
sweet Sepia Land.

Tags: imagery,